


Cold Hands, Warm Hearts

by underthegreensward



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-09
Updated: 2014-12-09
Packaged: 2018-02-28 19:11:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2743895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/underthegreensward/pseuds/underthegreensward
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>4 times Clarke is cold, 1 time she isn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold Hands, Warm Hearts

It's late at night and she's staring at the small fire in front of her. The day has been a long one, and her back hurts from walking crooked over her cane, but she doesn't feel like crawling into her bed yet.

 

Today was hard. They lost some but saved many. Maybe if they had been faster, maybe then they would have saved all.

 

Her head gives a tired shake and her hand glides over the metal of the brace. There's a breeze coming from behind her, cold like the metal against her hand, warm from the fire.

Someone silently sits down next to her. She doesn't need to look to know who it is, but she still does.  
Clarke's gaze rests on the slowly fading flames, shadows casts across her bruised face.

 

“We did well,” is all Clarke says and her mouth tugs into a small, thankful smile, her hand falling from the brace.  
  


* * *

  
  
Clarke's eyes are empty and cold when she looks at Finn now. Because he still hasn't found a brace for his wounds. Because he doesn't seem to try.

 

Raven sees it from afar, when Clarke watches him lash out again, Murphy and Bellamy dragging him away. She sees it again and again, until Clarke's eyes are void of emotion, still following Finn until he's out of sight.

 

The next time it happens, she's standing right behind Clarke, her palms sweaty with a short jab of fear and then anger. Carefully, she puts a hand on Clarke's shoulder, hoping to turn her away from everything, because she can't bear the look on Clarke's face she knows is there. She squeezes her shoulder over scrapped fabric until frigid fingers lie on top of hers.  
  


* * *

  
  
She was working on a a better radio when the storm started, shaking the part of the Ark she was working in, shaking it so violently that the table got knocked over and she burned her hand on newly fused cables.  
  
Now she's sitting with her back to the strongest, safest wall of the wreck among the others, hoping it will hold against the wind. Blisters have already started forming across her hand and she grits her teeth at the thought of being unable to finish up the radio soon.  
  
Her open palm lies on her leg and she lifts her other hand to pick dirt out of the wound, when a gentle hand takes over. “Let me have a look at that,” Clarke mumbles from next to her, pulling her arm across her lap.

 

A few winces make it past her sealed lips as Clarke dabs at the burn and Clarke's thumb rubs along her wrist with comfort. And then, cold hands wrap around her torched one, relieving the ache.

 

Their hands stay that way, until the storm calms and Clarke's hands are no longer cold.

 

* * *

  
  


They've been walking since early morning, so when they finally take a break, she slowly sinks to the floor. Clarke hands her a water bottle and she takes a few sips before handing it back. She knows they won't stop for long, so she uses the time to adjust her brace and stretch a little.

 

One by one, the others stand back up and slowly start walking. Clarke takes a few steps and stops in front of her, holding out her hand. Clarke pulls her up and worried eyes meet her own. “You okay?”, she asks, quiet fingertips grazing across her arm. She nods, her own hand curling around Clarke's elbow, her legs shifting. Clarke gives her a sharp nod of her own. “Good,” she says, leaning in to kiss her.

 

Clarke's lips are cold against hers, but Raven can't remember a time she felt this warm.  
  


* * *

  
  
The cold is creeping in from outside, leaving her breath as fog and goosebumps on her skin. Her blanket isn't enough to keep her warm at night and her red jacket wears thin during the day.

 

She finds that she doesn't care. Not when Clarke's hot body presses against her own, her heart bursting with warmth.


End file.
